


Coy

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock punishes Jim for being a dick. (But mostly on request.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ritsuko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/gifts).



> A/N: Holiday ‘drabble’ for Ritsuko [on tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/66814629392/musing). Thank you for being such a great buddy! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He does it on purpose, Spock’s sure: directly disregards his advice, right in the middle of the bridge, with a nonchalant, flippant sort of attitude that makes it seem like Spock’s opinion is the equivalent of _nothing_. By the time their shift ends—a double one, a long day—Jim’s got that little smirk reserved just for his first officer. 

Spock gets out of his seat and follows his captain down the hall, wondering, as objectively as he can manage, if this is something he’s supposed to... react... to. With Jim, it’s sometimes hard to tell.

Then they’re in Jim’s quarters, the door sliding shut behind them, and Spock asks immediately, “Why did you do that?”

Jim’s already stripping out of his gold tunic, the black undershirt left. He looks over at Spock with a slight twitch to his lips that might be evidence of laughter.

Sometimes, Spock understands Jim better than any other human, but mostly, it’s all an enigma. Spock quirks an eyebrow, and Jim sighs, as though it’s obvious, “I didn’t have any reason, Spock. I was just misbehaving.” He shrugs, but there’s obviously more to it than that.

Spock lifts the other eyebrow. “It is hardly misbehaving, Captain. You have every right to ignore my input. However, I believe it was done rather... deliberately.”

Perhaps because it’s clear that Spock’s not going to follow the human subtleties, Jim cuts to the chase. “So punish me.” He’s smirking while he says it; it’s a challenge.

Spock goes rigid, just like he usually does.

It’s always an offer he wants to take, but nonetheless one he knows he _shouldn’t_ —one that isn’t quite _right._ Jim’s his captain and his lover, and he has no right to _punish_ anyone, especially in the way that Jim always seems to mean. 

Jim strolls his way over to a chair, and Spock finds it impossible to not look right at his ass, swaying so perfectly and so invitingly, movements all exaggerated. Jim bends over to straighten out a pillow. It’s a completely unnecessary gesture that he would normally never do, but right now it bends his whole body forward, ass stuck out behind him, accentuated in the air, stretching the tight, black fabric of his uniform pants across both taut globes. 

Spock has a sharp intake of breath, resolve half-crumbling. 

Jim straightens. He struts back over, so close that they’re almost touching _everywhere_. The scent of his mate fills Spock’s nostrils, and the animal in him just wants to grab his t’hy’la and start _fucking_ , hard and fast and without any mercy. When they’re in private like this, logic is sometimes difficult to grasp. 

He resists as long as he can, and then Jim breathes a sensual, needy little, “ _Punish me,_ ” and Spock’s immediately hard. 

Jim asked him. He can’t be blamed.

He grabs a fistful of Jim’s blond hair, ignoring the sudden, startled cry, and he drags Jim by it through to the bedroom. Jim stumbles behind him, gasping in maybe-pain but not protesting. Spock wouldn’t do it if Jim didn’t want him to. 

Spock sits unceremoniously down on the bed, and he throws Jim right across his lap. Sprawled there, Jim struggles to get comfortable, legs and arms all over the edge of the bed. He looks back up at Spock, a gleam in his bright blue eyes. 

He bites his plush, pink lower lip and purrs, “I’m not sorry.” Insolence on purpose.

Spock doesn’t waste time with anything else. He shoves Jim’s head down with one hand—it’s too distracting, too pretty—and he hooks one finger in Jim’s waistband with the other. He tugs the dark pants down just far enough to catch underneath Jim’s cheeks, the front still on and pressed against Spock’s thigh. Spock’s legs are spread to support all of Jim’s body. He rolls up his sleeves and lifts one hand, ready. 

He brings it down with bruising force, lingering on contact and drinking in Jim’s cry. Jim’s flesh is warm and soft beneath him, and he pauses before the second blow to feel and squeeze, kneading both cheeks, one at a time, as though inspecting them. Jim has a particularly delicious ass: probably the nicest one Spock’s ever seen. Not that Spock’s seen a lot, unclothed. He couldn’t imagine a better one. Tight and round, full and taut, all the Spock’s ideal qualities in one, Jim’s ass seems to call for Spock’s hand like a siren. It wants to be smacked, wants to be used. When Spock takes too long, Jim wriggles it, whimpering a needy, “Come on.”

So Spock slaps it, watching the way it jiggles slightly in response with too much interest. He slaps it again, then again, and builds himself into a steady rhythm of relentless blows that could bring a Klingon to their knees. Jim cries out on each one as though he didn’t ask for it, gasping and groaning and practically arching into it. His cheeks grow pink in no time, then red, glowing where Spock’s hit them. Spock alternates, then crosses both, starting high, then low, weaving back up. He wants to paint Jim in a river of handprints: mark him up as _Spock’s._

Jim moans even when he sobs, and Spock pauses after forty smacks to ask, “Have you learned your lesson, Captain?” It’s his way of asking: are you alright?

Jim shakes his head and chokes, eyes watering up too beautifully, “More.” He rocks himself against Spock’s lap, cock rock hard against Spock’s thigh, and whines, “Harder, Spock, _please_.”

Spock tries not to deny his mate anything reasonable. 

He slaps Jim’s ass again, sure that if they go much longer, Jim won’t be able to sit in the captain’s chair on his next shift. He will anyway, but he’ll wince. And Spock will know. And that might be nice. Spock doesn’t make the blows any easier; he keeps them harsh and rough and with pure Vulcan strength. His arm doesn’t tire, never weakens from this; the drive to mark and please his pretty t’hy’la is always greater. His face is straight and his posture is perfect, and he smacks away at Jim’s gorgeous bottom like it’s all perfectly logical.

He’s getting hard against Jim’s stomach, but that’s only incentive to go harder. They’ll do more later. For now, this will be enough. It’s all punishment. He spanks Jim and starts to lift his leg up and down, bouncing Jim into each hit. Jim croons and cries, clearly loving it. His head arches back. Spock tries not to look at Jim too much; he doesn’t want to come before he’s done his job.

Jim’s more human, more eager. It’s common for him to finish first, and now isn’t any different. He bucks one last time against Spock’s lap and screams loudest of all, coming right in his pants. He plants his feet square on the floor and humps Spock’s leg shamelessly, and Spock continues to spank him through it, enjoying this way too much. There’s something about feeling Jim grow wet against his thigh that makes him even harder. He waits for Jim to spill it all out.

Then he pushes Jim closer to his knees, drops his hands, and Jim looks, spent, blushing and crying and panting, up at him. Jim might be waiting for more instructions. Sometimes after this, he’ll get on his knees and give Spock a ‘blow job’—an entirely human concept that Jim’s introduced him to. It’s lovely. Especially with Jim’s perfect lips. But today all Spock can see is the ripe, slapped-raw ass in front of him. 

He holds Jim down and leans forward, sticking out his tongue to run over Jim’s cheeks. 

Jim groans immediately and thrusts into his face, murmuring a nearly incoherent, “ _Spock._ ”

Spock ignores it and nips at Jim’s left cheek. Jim yelps. He licks it after, and Jim keens. He kisses the top of Jim’s crack and Jim moans like this is all he ever wanted, and it occurs to Spock that Jim actually tastes better than some of his best Synthesizer chips. 

Spock can’t take long, of course—Jim’s poor ass has seen enough abuse, and Spock’s not far from bursting himself. But he’s got enough time to spread Jim’s cheeks with one hand and run his tongue down the crack, flaying over Jim’s hole when he gets to it. Small and puckered, it twitches under his attentions—he lavishes it with spit and locks his lips around it, sucking once. If he’d started this earlier, he’d fuck Jim with his tongue. For now, he’s getting too close to start something he won’t finish, so he returns to languidly nipping and sucking and kissing all over Jim’s rosy cheeks, tongue pressing hard into them. Jim squeezes his ass once, and Spock kisses the dimples. Eventually he buries his whole face in it, tongue squished between both cheeks. 

He comes like that, in his own pants and against Jim’s stomach, and Jim moans louder than he does. He doesn’t hump Jim, but he does keep his tongue moving, drawing it out. A part of him wishes he could stay like this all day, or maybe that Jim didn’t wear pants—this is too great an ass to cover up. 

When he withdraws, he doesn’t quite want to, and he stares at it for another few seconds while Jim squirms. 

Then Jim mumbles breathily, “Can you mess up on the bridge tomorrow? You’re making me miss your ass, too.”

Spock never ‘messes up’ on the bridge. 

But he says, “I will try, Captain,” anyway, because it’s Jim. And for that, he’d do just about anything. 

Jim climbs off Spock’s lap, winces at standing up, and bends to kiss Spock’s lips. He tastes better than Spock probably does. 

He leans his forehead against Spock’s and sighs. His breath is warm, pleasant. Spock looks into him and tries to determine how good he’s actually going to be about waiting—he can be quite impatient. 

So Spock offers, “I am sorry, Jim.” Jim pulls back a few centimeters, crooking his head sideways in confusion. “For spanking you. You are my captain and that was entirely inappropriate. I believe I have misbehaved.” Jim’s frown abruptly twists into a smile, and he laughs. Spock continues as stoically as possible, “I think you should punish me.”

Jim kisses him so hard that he hits the mattress, fighting a dry, mirrored smile.


End file.
